3rd Chapter

1: Nineteen Fifty-eight

[I like this one,] Atropos looked into the aura of the girl seated in front of him. [She has a fire in her.]

[One that cannot be quelled,] Clotho agreed as he sat to the girl's left on the bench halfway up Center Street Hill.

[That's why I chose her,] Lachesis added, seated on her right. [And she doesn't look like much now, but the others will follow her almost to the point of a blind man that has found God.] He reached up like Aladdin reaching for the lamp and gently touched the bruise on her cheek. [Fire, anger and a stubborn refusal to be broken,] he mused sadly.

The fates looked up, seeing Richie Tozier give up on his yo-yo, sticking it back in his pocket, miming wrapping a coat around his torso (Atropos: [aw, Jesus, here we go…]) and pulling an imaginary slouch hat over his head.

"Hello, shweetheart," Tozier began and Atropos rolled his eyes. [Does this kid ever quit?]

He turned to Lachesis as the children got acquainted, [so, what's your game-plan, kid? Mash the seven dwarves together in the hopes to foil the wicked witch of the west?]

[Wrong fairy-tale,] Lachesis answered absently as he watched the girl do tricks with Richie's yo-yo. Only when she finished with two Around the Worlds, did he return his attention to the Random.

[It never occurred to me you might have what the Shorty's will come to think of as ADHD…] Clotho teased.

Lachesis waved off the comment, [as soon as they meet Mike Hanlon, the septet will be whole. They each have their tales to tell and will form a plan of their own from there.]

[That's your plan? Biff all the ingredients in a bowl, mix it all up and hope it tastes like cake?]

Clotho shrugged, [we're what the short-timers call "winging it." Bring the seven spokes together and ka will do the rest. Of course, we may have to give the wheel a little push every now and then, but if the spokes are strong, nothing will stop it.]

[You trust that much in Maturin?]

[the bible was written by the short-time sages as a guideline: an ancient book of Aesop's Fables. The stories aren't to be blindly believed, only the morals which they try to convey. Such is the faith we have in Maturin.]

[I'm not fighting for the Purpose if that's what you're asking, I won't trust Maturin, either.]

[You and we are conflicting forces,] Lachesis answered. [We can't make you join us, just cease your games as we have ours. Leave the children to play their part.]

[You write a compelling argument, kid,] Atropos nodded, Lachesis shrugged. [I'll leave them be.]

2

"You didn't have to come," Natalie Deepneau said softly after Sean enveloped her in his arms and planted a thick kiss on her lips. "How's Soph?" she added as he opened the library door and ushered her inside.

"She woke me up last night," he began as he swept his arm before him in a bad imitation of a butler. "I think she had a nightmare or something. What happened last night? She kept asking for the Pixie-Lady."

"I think that's what we're here to find out," Natalie replied, stepping up to the service desk. She cleared her throat rudely and dark-haired woman behind the counter looked up and smiled instantly.

"Nattie, sweetie! What are you doing in here so early? I thought you'd finished all your work for this semester. Hello, Sean." She added and her smile shrunk a little.

If Natalie knew the back-story, she would not have been so surprised at her mother's lack of trust in the male species. Instead, she blushed a little. "Please don't call me Nattie in public, mum."

"Why not?" Sean jested, winking at Helen Deepneau. "I think it's cute."

Helen chuckled slightly, "You call this public?" she gestured to near-deserted library: a couple, presumably married, browsed on opposite sides of the magazine section; a few scattered students were up to some last-minute swatting; and an elderly gentleman hid behind this morning's Derry News Weekend Edition in the lounge area. The front page showed a photo of a cherub-looking boy, not much older that Sean's sister Sophie, but without her glasses, Natalie couldn't read the heading.

Before she could turn back to her mother, the man folded his paper revealing his dark stubbly face and rose to greet her.

"Natalie!" – As loud as he dared, even in the library's current state of desertion – "don't see you in here very often." He feigned surprise and it seemed Natalie didn't see through it.

"Hi, Uncle Mike," she replied with a smile, "how's the writing going?"

"Oh, I'll never be a Bill Denborough."

"Mind if I speak with you for a bit? I can come back later if you're… um… busy." She glanced at the paper behind him jokingly.

"Not at all, Natalie, not at all! Now's as good a time as any." He turned and gestured for her and Sean to follow.

What was that about? Helen mouthed to her before she could follow.

Don't worry, mum, I'll tell you later, she answered simply.

Mike Hanlon led the young couple to his office. "Tea, coffee or Milo?" he asked as he leaned his back against the door to keep it open. One hand seemed to fiddle with something in his coat pocket.

"Milo, please," they replied as one.

"Do you know why I came?"

The librarian didn't answer as he made the drinks so Natalie and Sean decided to take their seats in front of the desk: two cheap black swivel-chairs, thirty dollars at your nearest Warehouse store. Where everyone gets a bargain! Natalie sang unkindly in her head as she sat down. She quelled the nasty thought ruthlessly.

"That wasn't what you wanted to ask first, was it?" he answered as he placed three cups down: two a chocolaty brown and one with a teabag in it.

"Pennywise," it came out like a buckshot before she could think and Mike shuddered, just like Atropos said he would.

Sean gave her a questioning look and Hanlon pulled whatever-it-was from his pocket and seemed to roll it in his closed fist. Natalie didn't get a chance to see it, but it must've been small.

Mike Hanlon tented his hands in front of his nose and lowered his face. With a sigh, he raised his head and began to tell his tale…

3 – Nineteen Fifty-eight

[Lucky last, aye?] Atropos fell into step next to the African-American boy and imitated his walk: hands in pockets, head bowed as though praying just this once to be invisible. [Whaddo you think, kid?] The Random pretended to talk to him. [Yeah?] As though he had received a reply,

[Knock it off,] Lachesis commanded meekly.

The Random ignored him, [Really? But that little dickhead's so fuckin sure of himself. You know what I think? You're screwed.]

Clotho shook his head when Lachesis moved to interrupt again and decided to change the subject: [You're gonna hate this bit.]

[Lemme guess:] Lachesis replied dryly, ['there's no avoiding it' is there? That's what you always say.] He was looking at a bush on the side of the road ahead of him and their charge

Clotho nodded, just as a horribly familiar figure stepped from the bushed and uttered: "Hello, Nigger."

Mike Hanlon took a couple of steps back, meekly looking around him, unknowingly locking eyes with Lachesis for a split second. [Feign,] the fate commanded as Henry Bowers told the frightened Mike that he wasn't black enough.

As Ben Hanscom had done, it appeared as though the boy had heard and managed to divert away from the bully, foiled only by the mud in Mike's path.

[Fuck! Not again!] Lachesis swore as the boy slid to his knees and Bowers fell upon him with the ferocity of a lion, chanting 'Niggerniggernigger!' as he smothered the poor kid with mud. Clotho was forced to use all his might to hold his colleague back.

[Why won't you let me help him?] Lachesis whined.

[Because he must endure it. you'll see.]

The Fates followed the boy home after his ordeal and stayed with him until he met the rest; leaving Bill, Ben, Richie, Stan, Eddie and Beverly to their own devices; letting the children discuss their horrors. Perhaps it was their unknown presence that led the older, wiser version of Mike Hanlon to believe they had indeed been drawn together through some force other luck and free will… that everything that happened in the summer of 1958 had happened entirely on Purpose.

On the third of July, the three fates went three separate ways: Atropos' task was to lead Henry Bowers' gang towards Mike Hanlon, where Lachesis waited to give the child strength and speed if he needed it. Lachesis and Atropos would lead Hanlon to a section of the Barrens, an old gravel-pit to be precise, near the trainyards. It was here that Clotho waited with the Losers: who would've thought World War Three would take place in a little place like Derry?

4

Throughout his narration, Mike Hanlon hesitated often, casting nervous glances towards the filing cabinet on his left; or passing that little silver-glinting thing between his hands. Less than an hour had passed by the time he concluded, even though it seemed the tale would go on until dawn the next day. Adding to the surrealism of the moment, their cups had remained full and warm.

Sean was the first to speak afterwards. "Wait… this 'penny-eyes'… is that what you called It?"

"Pennywise," Hanlon corrected calmly.

"Pennywise, right – is that what happened to my sister?"

"It appears so."

Neither of the men noticed Natalie staring at the filing cabinet, or the shimmer of air that had caught her eye in the first place.

"But, didn't you guys kill it? Sorry, but, this sounds all too much like a Stephen King horror-of-the-corny-kind to me."

"Yes, we killed it, and Benjamin did his best to crush all the eggs, but he told me they were countless – he could easily have missed one. The timing is right also: the cycle seems to be about twenty-five to twenty-seven years-"

Natalie cut him off by raising her hand in a silencing gesture though she still seemed to stare into space. "You did know I was coming, didn't you?" she whispered. "Show yourselves!" she commanded to the air.

A muttered [Shit!] came as an answer before the air in front of the cabinet flickered like a mirage on a hot road.

Sean carpenter was almost startled out of his chair when the empty space suddenly filled with two short white-clad figures.

The male figure winced as his female companion squeezed his hand and the expression was quickly replaced with a nervous smile.

"You were eavesdropping weren't you?" Natalie sounded angry.

Valkyrie replied first: [No, we…]"Sorry, we weren't!" she sounded distressed, like a child trying to justify herself for kissing the boy next door.

"You lie!" the teenager scolded.

"We can't lie!" Lachesis retorted.

Natalie: "What if that was a lie?"

Valkyrie: "we're going around in circles…"

Lachesis: "see: that wasn't a lie…"

"Stop it! Please!" Sean almost shrieked. So this is what it feels like to go insane. "You're giving me a headache! Who the hell are you and where the fuck did you come from?"

Lachesis took a deep breath and replied calmly: "Apologies, Master Carpenter, but you are not prepared to see us yet. However, there are some events which cannot be avoided. Madness is always a danger when dealings are made between Short- and Long-Timers. You may call me Lachesis, while my colleague and young friend is Valkyrie," he failed to notice how quickly he began to sound like Clotho. "It was we who coaxed the so-called 'Pennywise' from claiming your sister last night."

Sean gave the little bald doctors a completely unbelieving look, said look fading instantly when Lachesis spoke the next sentence: "It is my own dear Valkyrie to whom Sophie Carpenter refers to as the 'Pixie-Lady'."

5 – From the Derry News Weekend Edition, Saturday 13th November 2010

'FIND OUR SON' DESPERATE PARENTS BEG DERRY

A despairing 911 call received by local emergency services last night has sparked a Derry-wide search beginning at around eleven pm last night. As of this paper going to print, the Derry Police Department have found no leads as to the six-year-old's whereabouts. Police are asking residents to keep a lookout for Garrick Anderson (pictured), who was last seen in his bedroom of the Anderson's Up-Mile Hill Road home at around eight-thirty pm.

Police are not revealing any details at the present time. However, this reporter managed to overhear a constable reporting to his superior officer how 'awkward it was that the child's bedroom windows were closed and latched' and that 'the forensic team has revealed no fingerprints but the Andersons' own on the sill.'

When asked if she had a message for Derry's residents, a tearful Mrs. Tabitha Anderson replied 'We just want our baby boy back.'

DERRY'S CURSED PAST turn to page D6